‘Well, still shocked. Battered and bruised. Two broken fingers.’ There was a hard edge to his voice now. ‘Where they tried to wrench her rings off!

Did they get them?’

‘No. Which is also thanks to you. She’s pretty shaken up, and her face is swollen. But physically it could have been a lot worse.’ Philip Nicholson shook his head and slowly exhaled. ‘My wife and I owe you so much.’

Lola squirmed, embarrassed. Anyone would have done the same: ‘No they wouldn’t,’ Blythe retorted. ‘Most people would have had more sense.’

Their visitor nodded. ‘I’m inclined to agree. Though very grateful, of course, that your daughter wasn’t—’

‘Hello, hello! Morning, all!’ A little man wearing a maroon corduroy jacket over a green hand-knitted sweater came bouncing up to them. Pumping Lola’s hand and simultaneously pulling closed the curtains around the bed, he said, ‘I’m Dr Palmer, your consultant. Let’s just give you a quick once-over, shall we? If you two could leave us alone for ten minutes that’d be marvellous.

I say, that’s a fair-sized bump on your head. How are you feeling after your little adventure last night?’

‘Great: Lola watched as with mesmerising speed he began testing her reflexes, her eyes, her coordination. ‘Are you going to be asking me questions?’

‘Absolutely’

She couldn’t help feeling a bit smug. ‘The capital of Australia is Canberra.’

‘Good grief, is it really? Always thought it was Sydney. Never been much good at capital cities, I’m afraid. When I’m checking out my patients I prefer to ask them sums. What’s twenty-seven times sixty-three?’

‘Uh ... um ...’ Lola began to panic; seven threes were twenty-one, carry two and—

‘Only kidding.’ Mr Palmer’s eyes twinkled as he snatched up her notes. ‘What day is it today?’

‘Wednesday the fourth of December.’ Phew, that was more like it, that was the kind of question she could answer.

‘Cheers.’ He wrote the date on a fresh page then added o/e NAD.

‘What does NAD mean?’ Lola peered at it. ‘Please don’t say -Neurotic and Demented.’

The consultant chuckled. ‘On examination, no abnormality detected.’

‘My mother might not agree with you there. So does that mean I can go home?’

‘I think we can let you go.’

Beaming, Lola wiggled her feet. ‘Yay.’

’What a charming man.’ Blythe, evidently quite bowled over by Philip Nicholson, found Lola’s glittery shoes in the bottom of her bedside locker. ‘And so grateful. His wife’s on Ward Thirteen, up on the next floor. Poor thing, from the sound of it her face is a terrible mess. I think they’re going to be sending you flowers, by the way. He asked for your address.’

‘If they’re that grateful they might send me chocolates too. Did you phone work?’

‘I did. Told them you wouldn’t be in until next week.’

‘Who did you speak to? What did they say?’

‘It was Cheryl.’ Blythe held out the cropped velvet jacket as if Lola were six years old. ‘And it was quite hard to hear what she was saying. Everyone was cheering so loudly when they heard you were going to be away, I could hardly make out a word.’

‘Cheek. Everyone loves me at work. Honestly,’ said Lola, ‘if Philip Nicholson wants to get me something really useful, a new mother wouldn’t go amiss.’

Chapter 6

’This is fantastic. I feel like the Queen.’ Being at home and having a fuss made of her was a huge novelty and Lola was relishing every minute. Once you’d been officially signed off work by the doctor, well, you may as well lie back and make the most of it. Friends called in, bringing chocolate croissants and gossip from the outside world, a couple of police officers had dropped by to tell her that the muggers hadn’t been caught, and Blythe had come over yesterday and spring-cleaned – well, winter-cleaned – the flat.

Best of all, she had Gabe at her beck and call.

‘You’re a fraud.’ He brought in the cheese and mushroom toasted sandwich he’d just made.

‘You don’t have to be in bed.’

‘I know’ Lola happily patted her ultra-squishy goosedown duvet, all puffed up around her like a cloud, and wriggled into a more comfortable sitting position. ‘But I get so much more sympathy this way. It’s like being back at school and staying home with tonsillitis. All cosy, watching daytime TV, everyone being extra-nice to you and knowing you’re missing double physics.

Ooh,’ she bit into the toasted sandwich and caught a string of melted cheese before it attached itself to her chin.

‘Mmmmpphh, this is heaven. Oh Gabe, don’t go to Australia. Stay here and make toasted sandwiches for me forever.’

Gabe found her toes and tweaked them. ‘What did your last slave die of?’

‘Nothing. I’ve never had a slave before, but now I definitely know I want one.’ At that moment the doorbell rang downstairs. ‘Like when the doorbell rings,’ said Lola. ‘And you just ask someone else to run down and see who it is.’

‘That’ll be me, then.’

‘Sorry. I’d do it myself if I could.’ Lola shrugged regretfully. ‘But I’m an invalid.’

He was back a couple of minutes later with a great armful of white roses tied with straw and swathed in cellophane. ‘Flowers for the lady. From a very upmarket florist. Here’s the card.’

Gabe tossed a peacock-blue envelope over to Lola. ‘Unless you want me to read it for you because you’re too ill.’

‘I’ll manage.’ Since she didn’t have any friends who would use such a glitzy company, Lola had already guessed the identity of the sender. And she wasn’t wrong. ‘They’re from Philip Nicholson. He hopes I’m feeling better. His wife was discharged from hospital yesterday.’ She paused, reading on. ‘He’s inviting me to a party at their house so I can meet her and they can thank me properly.’

‘You can’t go to a party. You’re an invalid.’

‘It’s not until next Friday; that’s seven days away. I’ll be fine by then. It’s nice of them to invite me.’ Lola hesitated, pulled a face. ‘But won’t it be a bit embarrassing?’

‘Spoken by the girl who once superglued her finger to her forehead and had to wait in casualty for six hours before the nurse could unglue it.’

OK, that had been more embarrassing.

‘I’m still not sure. They live in Barnes.’ Lola checked the address. ‘Sounds posh.’

‘You’d hurt their feelings if you didn’t turn up.’

This was true.

‘And they must want me to go.’ She showed Gabe the handwritten letter. ‘He’s even organised a car to come here and pick me up on the night. Crikey, now I really feel like the Queen.’ Having finished her toasted sandwich, a thought struck Lola. ‘Is there any of that apricot cheesecake left?’

‘No, you ate it.’

‘Oh. Well, could we buy some more?’

Gabe rolled his eyes. ‘You really should get back to work. You’re turning into Marie Antoinette.’

Five days later Lola was back. She adored her job and she loved her customers — dealing with the public was her forte — but sometimes they were capable of testing her patience to the limit.

Especially in the run-up to Christmas, when vast hordes of people who didn’t venture into bookshops at any other time of year came pouring through the doors with a great Need to Buy coupled with Absolutely No Idea What.

It could be an enjoyable challenge. It could also be the road to madness. Lying in bed watching lovely Fern and Phil and dunking marshmallows in hot chocolate seemed like a distant dream.

‘No, no, it’s none of them.’ The woman with the plastic rain hat protecting her hair — why? It wasn’t raining today — rejected the array of books Lola had shown her.

‘OK, well, that’s everything we have in stock about insects. If you like, I can look on the computer and—’

‘It’s nothing like any of these,’ the woman retorted. ‘There’s no pictures in the one I’m after.’

A book about insects containing no illustrations of insects. Hmm, that would probably explain why they didn’t stock it. ‘Would you recognise the cover if you saw it?’

‘No.’

Lola tried for the third time. ‘And you really can’t remember who wrote it?’

The woman frowned. ‘No. I thought you’d know that.’

She was clearly disappointed, feeling badly let down by the incompetence of Kingsley’s staff.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Lola, ‘I can’t think how else to do this. I’m afraid we’re not going to be able to—’

‘Oink, oink!’

Okaaaay. ‘Excuse me?’

The woman said triumphantly, ‘There’s a pig in it!’

A pig. Right. A pig in a book about insects. Zrrrrr, went Lola’s brain, assimilating this new and possibly deal-clinching clue. Zzzzrrrrrrrr .. .

‘Is it Lord of the Flies?’

‘Yes! That’s the one!’

Lola exchanged a glance with an older male customer currently leafing through a book on the subject of kayaking down the Nile. For a split second she saw the twinkle of suppressed laughter in his eyes and almost lost it herself.

But no. She was a professional. To the woman in the rain hat Lola said cheerfully, ‘It’s a novel by William Golding. Let me show you where to find it,’ and led her off to the fiction section.

When she returned, Kayak Man was waiting to speak to her. ‘Hi. Well done with your last customer, by the way.’

‘All in a day’s work. You nearly made me laugh.’

‘Sorry.’ He put down the kayak book. ‘Anyway, I’m hoping you can help me now.’

Lola smiled; he had a lean, intelligent face. ‘Fire away. I like a challenge.’

‘Jane Austen. My wife’s read all her books. I was wondering, has she written any new ones this year?’

Lola waited for his eyes to twinkle. They didn’t. Her heart sank.

‘I’m sorry, Jane Austen’s dead.’

‘She is? Oh, that’s a shame, my wife will be sorry to hear that. We must have missed her obituary in the Telegraph. What did she die of, do you know?’